


i'll be good

by bluesandbirds



Series: threads [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Dream Smp, Gen, Hurt, No Comfort to be Found, Sad Ending, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), l'manburg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27820204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesandbirds/pseuds/bluesandbirds
Summary: tommy swears to do better. he has to. because if he doesn't... if he doesn't then he loses it all.another possible continuation of "how wars are like dodgeball" but as per the others, is also a stand-alone.
Series: threads [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034271
Comments: 192
Kudos: 1081
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	i'll be good

**Author's Note:**

> warning: im a tommyinnit apologist and it shows in this fic, im extremely biased  
> hes got such dumb lil brother energy, i cant see things not from his pov
> 
> one more ending after this because i added this one after i got an idea from tumblr

It doesn't happen quickly. Or if it does, it's not something that gets noticed quickly.

It's the kind of thing that builds up, that simmers in the air for a long time and nobody sees until it's boiled over and they're treating burns.

The thing is that Tommy used to live on the knife's edge. He was born there, in the delicate balance that he danced and played along. But now, his feet are bloody and scarred, and nobody is interested in helping him walk.

He can go either _back_ or _off,_ but tipping that balance would only drag everyone with him, so Tommy packs his bags and tries out that _safety_ everyone's raving about.

He stops the pranking. Stops the joking. Stops the messing around. Because, at the end of the day, they are right. 

He can't live his life like it's a warzone (even if that's all he's known), he has to get used to diplomacy and rules and responsibility. No looting, no griefing, no being _Tommy_. (Fucking hell that's all he is, isn't it?)

He doesn't quite remember what peace is, but he'll have to give it a shot.

_"I have to be a teenager at some point."_

Life's not fair to kids like him and Tubbo. Maybe they missed their chance to be teenagers, sometime along the sticks and discs and sunsets that became plans and paperwork and politics. Tubbo's already accepted it, it's time for Tommy to as well.

So, Tommy puts on his big-boy pants and does better.

It starts in a cabinet meeting.

They're going over more plans for expansion and the construction of new suburbs around L'Manburg. Tommy's doing his best to pay attention, even has a paper and pen to take notes. (He's really only used them to doodle angry stick figures of Dream, but the thought is there.) It's going well, he thinks. Tubbo has been speaking for a while, laying out points that Tommy nods along to in all the right places.

Then, Big Q mutters some comment involving _Mexican L'Manburg_ and it all comes crashing down.

An unwilling laugh bursts from his lips, cutting into the middle of whatever Tubbo was saying.

His friend shoots him a dirty look.

"Really, Tommy?" His tone drips with disappointment and reproach.

He scowls. "Sorry."

"Be serious for once, please," Tubbo says.

The chastisement burns.

Anger ebbs to contrition. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"Just shut up, Tommy."

His mouth snaps shut.

Tommy leaves the Camarvan with his head down and a book full of notes.

He can be better. He can be good. For his friends. For their L'Manburg. (It's this or exile. This or lonely nights in a cold ravine haunted by _let's be the bad guys_. Tommy can't be alone. It's this or death.)

(Shut down your reactions, your emotions, your mind. Fake it until you make it.)

Fundy is the first to notice something's off. Not wrong. Just off.

He's walking the prime path late in the afternoon. The sun creeps lower and lower from its place in the sky. When he's reached the path by the embassy he turns, expecting to catch a glimpse of that sacred view.

Instead, he gets an eyeful of blackstone. Ponk's tower structure still blocks the sunset.

Fundy tilts his head and wonders why Tommy's let that stand.

He shrugs and walks away.

Nobody watches the sunset on the bench that night.

Then Quackity.

"Ayy, Tomás, looking good, man. You break out the suit again?" (There's only the slightest tremor in his tone.)

A well-practiced smile. "Yeah, I figured it was time for a change."

Quackity nods quickly and hurries on. (He used to wear a suit like that. He used to know a suit like that.)

From there, it's a series of small things in quick succession.

Niki frowns when the cakes she purposely leaves out go bad with the slices unstolen.

Sam murmurs Spanish to himself and wonders why it falls dead in the air.

Sapnap walks alone on the shoreline, listening to breaking waves that sound like broken promises.

L'Manburg is quieter now.

TommyInnit wears a business suit with a full Windsor tie and the buttons all done up.

He shows up to cabinet meetings on time, takes notes, and doesn't react when Quackity nudges him under the table.

He finishes his wooden house in New L'Manburg, moves in, and doesn't bring anything with him. 

He doesn't laugh, but he fills creeper holes, signs contracts, and keeps his head down, and isn't that so much better? So much more efficient. More productive. More beneficial to his country.

Tommy's always been good. Even when he wasn't kind, he was good. A good kid, a good soldier, a good vice president.

He's a damn good vice president.

(Tommy hasn't said a word that isn't _okay_ in many, many days. _'Can you finish the paperwork?' 'Okay.' 'How are you?' 'Okay.' )_

_"Tommy, shut up."_

(Shut up and put up or it's out with you. Anything could tip the balance. Anything could mean your ~~execution~~ exile. This is how you get him to choose you.)

(Tommy can't be alone. He can't.)

(He's perfected smiling without feeling it. It happens on cue, without thinking about it. Tommy didn't think about his actions a lot before, but now he _really_ doesn't have to think about them. They just happen on autopilot, on command, everything so model.)

(He thinks he's lost his mind. It's worse than at the meeting with Dream. His mind, where did it go? He reaches for the places that he used to feel happiness, anger, pain, fear. Nothing is there.)

(He's made it.)

(He's better.)

It's Dream who acts on it.

He's watched it all through narrowed eyes, perched in trees and shadows.

Sees the straightened back and the vacant smiles and the _responsibility._

It's unacceptable.

There's no joy in breaking what's already shattered.

No fun in playing with broken toys.

L'Manburg's cabinet is exiting the Camarvan when he strikes.

An enderpearl puts him right in Tommy's face as he slams an enderchest onto the grass.

A gloved hand retrieves his prize. One _Cat_ , recently acquired from Skeppy for the price of some netherite junk.

"Oh, Tommy." Sing-song and strychnine.

And then he dangles the disc in front of the boy's face like catnip and he waits for him to pounce.

Only, he doesn't.

Tommy's fists clench and he looks away. Through gritted teeth, he says, "I can't right now, Dream, you know that."

Tubbo steps forward from the steps of the van. "Dream, what is the meaning of this?"

Dream pays him no mind. He only has eyes for Tommy. His fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around the fragile edge of _Cat_.

He hums thoughtfully.

A flick of his wrist and there's flint and steel clutched in his other hand.

"You sure about that?"

Tommy keeps his eyes trained away. "I have a duty to my country."

"Oh, what, so you wouldn't mind if I—oops."

Dream lights a fire in the grass.

It weaves through the blades, growing a large patch of scorched earth right outside the van.

Nobody does anything to stop it.

The white mask stares down L'Manburg's cabinet. "Barbecue, anyone?"

From the doorway of the Camarvan, Fundy looks on the scene, mouth pressed in a thin line.

Quackity murmurs to himself, shifting on his heels.

"You wouldn't," Tommy says in that carefully plain tone, "If you did you'd lose all leverage over me."

He shrugs. "Sentimental value is bullshit anyways." A beat. "But I'm not talking about this disc."

Dream turns, finally facing Tubbo. "New terms, President Tubbo," he says, "I'm not interested in exile or probation. I want you to burn _your_ disc."

(Shut up. Shut down. You don't want to be alone.)

Tubbo's noticed Tommy's behavior, of course, and he's rolled his eyes at the dramatics. Tommy's pouting, being purposefully difficult to prove a point, that's what Tubbo reasons. He's overcompensating and expects them to fall at his feet with apologies and compromises.

Tubbo's not going to fall for that.

Not today.

So, he plays along. (Dream has all the power, what else can they do?)

The enderchest opens under the brush of his fingers.

A gleaming disc with a purple center is produced.

He turns around with his head high, wielding his newfound nerve as he strides over to Dream.

It's a drastic action, but it's the only thing that might get a reaction from his best friend. That will make him stop this pity game and take some responsibility for once in his goddamn life.

_"The one thing you care about."_

"Burn it," Dream urges.

Tubbo glances over at Tommy who still refuses to look at the conflict in front of him.

He's playing the hard game.

Against all of his precious logic and reason, Tubbo lets the slick vinyl slip from his fingers and fall down, down, down into the fire.

Nobody does anything to stop him.

He doesn't know what he expected. For Tommy to have a bucket of water ready? (He's seen how quickly he pulls off MLG's). For Tommy to dive into the fire to catch it before the flames touch it? (Tommy's always been ready to dive into fires for what he cares about).

He does none of these things.

Tommy just stares.

In the middle of L'Manburg, under the attention of all the world, _Mellohi_ burns.

Noxious fumes permeate the air. It gets in their eyes, their noses, their throats, irritating and choking them out. Tubbo's got lungs full of smoke and poison and horror. He stares at the inky puddle until his eyes are teary and screaming.

Flames reflect in glassy blue eyes.

"May I be dismissed?" Tommy asks.

Numbly, Tubbo nods.

Tommy turns and walks away.

-

Ghostbur stares at the blond boy in the courtyard. He looks... familiar? He squints harder, grasping for the answer in his ever-rippling pool of memories.

"Hey, Fundy," he says, grabbing his son's attention. He points to the boy. "Who's that?"

Fundy spares a glance over. When he looks back, his eyes are tired.

"That's Tommy, Will."

Ghostbur frowns. _Tommy. Bullying. He is a child. He is your..._

"No, that's not..."

_"Good news and bad news. I've got you a woman. Bad news, she's American."_

_"PAHAHAHA!"_

_"I did not call you WILBY!"_

The dead man shakes his head. "No, Tommy's such a happy kid." He looks around. "Where'd he go?"

Fundy and Quackity exchange looks.

Tubbo opens his mouth.

Across the courtyard, TommyInnit places a perfectly spelled, appropriately capitalized sign on a newly built house.

Tubbo closes his mouth.

He has no answer.

Silence echoes in L'Manburg.

It's quiet now.

**Author's Note:**

> i used the "good news bad news" quote but then i realized it references america and there are no countries in minecraft except that there were in smpearth and then i started thinking about the logistics of countries and then my brain starting hurting and then i realized i was overthinking minecraft fanfiction so please don't think about it too hard for my sake


End file.
